Foundations
by Shaneener
Summary: A songfic using the song Founations by Kate Nash about Pam and Roy. Oneshot.


Hey everyone, here's a little songfic for you as I deal with writers block. I was listening to this song and it just reminded me of Roy and Pam. I hope this isn't out-of-character for Pam. I always thought she was a lot stronger than the camera made her out to be. See the parking lot exchange at the Dundies.

Anyway, the song is called "Foundations" and it's by the British singer Kate Nash. It's a fantastic song, and the music video is great.

Summary: A songfic about Roy and Pam with the song "Foundations".

Rating: T for language and implied sexual themes.

* * *

_Thursday night,  
everything's fine,  
Except you've got that look in your eyes,  
when I'm telling a story  
And you find it boring you're thinking of something to say.  
You'll go along with and then drop it  
and you humiliate me, in front of our friends. _

Then I'll use that voice what you find annoyin'  
and say something like  
"intelligent input darlin' why don't you just have another beer then?"

Then you call me a bitch and everyone we're with will be embarrassed,  
and I won't give a shit.

Pam looked around at the people at the table. Darryl and his new girlfriend Meg, Madge and her life-partner Julie, and other big, burly guys that Roy knew from the warehouse and the bars he went to every night. She knew she should be hurt, but for some reason, she found she didn't care.

Roy took another sip of the beer she had just yelled at him to drink and muttered "bitch" under his breath again. Everyone at the table took to studying anything they could. Darryl read the same menu for the third time, Julie stared at her pudgy hands, and the big burly black guy looked at his watch.

Pam just looked out the window at the setting sun.

_My fingertips are holding onto the  
cracks in our foundations,  
and I know that I should let go,  
but I can't.  
And every time we fight I know it's not right,  
every time that you're upset and I smile  
I know I should forget, but I can't._

"Coming to bed?" Pam asked, trying to be as sweet as possible. The big lump of lard and beer that was her fiancée just grumbled in response. She sighed. She knew his alcohol-induced bad mood was not going to lift until the morning.

She turned to go back into the bedroom when she heard him murmur, "Pammy?"

"Yes, Roy?"

"Can you go get me some more of those cookies you got last week?"

Pam bit back a sharp response. "But, Roy, those were from my mom. They are only at this little bakery by her house and—"

"Oh. Whatever," he said, slipping back into his bad mood. Pam took a deep breath, and then relented.

"Sure, Roy." She grabbed her coat and threw it over her pajamas.

"Thanks Pammy. I love you."

As Pam walked out the door, she mumbled, "I love you, too."

_You said I must eat so many lemons,  
'cause I am so bitter.  
I said "I'd rather be with your friends mate,  
'cause they are much fitter" _

Yes it was childish  
and you got aggressive  
and I must admit that I was a bit scared,  
but it gives me thrills to wind you up. 

Pam realized she was a lot more like Jan than she liked to think. As she gazed around their living room, she knew she had some self-destructive tendencies.

She knew he was pretty pissed off to begin with, but something kept her going. Maybe it was the fact his face turned a darker shade of purple with each word she said, or maybe it was the high-pitched tone in his voice that got higher the angrier he got.

Now, two broken lamps and a ruined rocking chair later, Pam knew she had self-destructive tendencies. She had pissed her fiancée off enough so he ruined their living room. That's self-destructive, right?

_My fingertips are holding onto the  
Cracks in our foundations,  
and I know that I should let go,  
but I can't.  
And every time we fight,  
I know it's not right,  
every time that you're upset and I smile,  
I know I should forget,  
but I can't._

"Pam, guess what?" Roy asked as she climbed into the car.

"What?" she asked, a smile lighting up her face. She wasn't happy because she was with Roy, but because Jim had just convinced Dwight that he was a genetically-mutated clone with super-powers.

"Well, you know how Madge's lesbian girlfriend used to be a florist?" Pam nodded. "She has these leftover orange daisies that nobody wanted so she's gonna give them to us for the wedding for free. That's like, what, two-hundred bucks we save? Three hundred?"

"Daisies?" Pam asked quietly, thinking of the flower. "But, Roy, I thought we agreed on petunias. Our wedding palette is purple and—"

"Yeah, well, we can just use the daisies. They'll work, right?"

Pam paused. "Not really."

Roy growled and turned the car quickly, causing Pam to jerk in her seat. "God, Pam, they're just fucking flowers."

Pam looked out her window. "Orange daisies are fine, Roy," she murmured, thinking of the wedding reception. Purple and orange were fine. Just fine.

_Your face is pasty,  
'Cause you've gone and got so wasted,  
what a surprise,  
don't want to look at your face,  
'cause it's making me sick. _

You've gone and got sick on my trainers,  
I only got these yesterday.  
Oh my gosh, I cannot be bothered with this. 

Pam picked up her tennis shoes with her index finger and thumb and tossed them into the garbage. She turned back to where Roy was passed out, and she resisted the urge to kick him.

It pissed her off so much. Those shoes cost her forty fucking dollars. That's like four hours or so of putting up with Michael's shit and Kelly's high-pitched whines and the constant scratching sound of Stanley's pencil as he filled out another one of his damned crossword puzzles.

It was fucking three-thirty in the morning, and Roy had just gotten home. She had been so worried. She had called him nine times had he hadn't bothered to lift up his stupid cell phone and reassure her he wasn't dead or something.

"Fuck," Pam whispered, reveling in the four letter word. With a last glance at Roy, she climbed back into bed.

_Well I'll leave you there till the mornin',  
and I purposely won't turn the heating on  
and dear God, I hope I'm not stuck with this one._

Pam froze.

Of course she wanted to be with him. She loved him. He was her Roy. She'd known him since she was in sixth grade. She'd been dating him for ten years, three of those they'd been engaged. You can't not love someone you've been with for ten years.

She pushed the thought from her head as she started her car. She forced herself to believe she hadn't turned the heat on in the house for him so the cold air would help him with his hangover. She wasn't a mean-spirited person. She loved him. Of course she loved him.

_My fingertips are holding onto the  
Cracks in our foundations,  
and I know that I should let go,  
but I can't.  
And every time we fight,  
I know it's not right,  
every time that you're upset and I smile,  
I know I should forget,  
but I can't._

Pam sorted laundry quietly. She lifted up Roy's white shirt and put it in one pile. Her jeans went into another. Roy's red sweater went into a different pile. Her yellow polka-dot bra went in another.

"What?" Pam asked aloud, studying the bra. She didn't own a yellow bra, especially not one with polka dots. It wasn't even her size. She was nowhere near a 32D. Then, whose was it?

Tears welled up in Pam's eyes. This was her bra. It had to be. She just probably hadn't worn it before. Maybe Roy had bought it for her. Her birthday was in a week. It was her bra. Roy was her fiancée.

Pam put the yellow bra in the pile with her yellow blouse and Roy's yellow boxers.

_And every time we fight I know it's not right,  
every time that you're upset and I smile.  
I know I should forget, but I can't._

Pam zipped up her suitcase. She only had a few more minutes before Roy came home from the bar. She really didn't want to have a loud confrontation with him. She didn't want him to be hurt. It wasn't really his fault.

It was over.

Pam dragged her two big suitcases out the door with her. She looked around their apartment one last time before shutting out the lights and closing the door.

* * *

Thanks for reading. Now, review! And listen to the song and/or watch the music video. It's a happy-sounding pop song, but it's not bubble gum... Just listen to it. Thanks! 


End file.
